“We left Akstyr and Basilard alone with our lorry and more money than they’ve likely seen in their lives,” Sicarius said.
“You think they’d steal everything? And strand us?”
“Many would.”
“They’re better men than that.”
Sicarius gave her a long look over his shoulder. Most people would have tripped over a root if they lifted their eyes from the trail that long, but no mischievous tree protuberances dared tangle his toes.
“You trust too easily,” he said.
“Even if they aren’t better men than that, they’d be afraid to cross you. Fear motivates people into good behavior.” Though it was not a tactic she preferred to use, she understood its effectiveness.
“We’ll see.”
The rush of the river grew audible. Amaranthe’s stomach grumbled in anticipation of boiling water for tea and having a meal. Sicarius had pushed her to leave before eating.
“I hope Basilard has breakfast waiting.” She sniffed the air, hoping to catch a whiff of eggs cooking. “It’s amazing what he finds in the forest when he goes foraging. I wouldn’t have a clue about what’s edible and what’s not. He’s a good man. I have faith in him.”
Sicarius glanced back. She expected a comment about how hard it was to monitor their surroundings with her prattling, or perhaps a suggestion that she should be trying to figure out the greater puzzle they were involved with. Instead, he said, “I can forage.”
She almost laughed. Maybe her praise for Basilard had made him envious? “Oh? I’ve not seen you do it.”
“It’s not the right season. Summer and fall.”
“What about those tuberous things Basilard found by the side of the road the other night? And mixed with the sausages? They were good. Nice crunch.”
The next glance Sicarius leveled her direction was more of a glare. She decided not to push his humor with further teasing.
The frothing river water grew visible through the trees. The suspension bridge came into sight, and, on the far side, the lorry waited where they left it. Amaranthe resisted the urge to throw a triumphant, “I told you so,” at Sicarius. Team leaders were probably supposed to be more mature than that.
No camp fire burned, and no eggs waited. As Amaranthe and Sicarius crossed the bridge, she expected the men to come out and greet them—or berate her for leaving them to the elements—but nothing moved. Basilard and Akstyr must have been miserable during the storm and found shelter elsewhere.
A furry lump came into sight near the base of the bridge: a dead raccoon. She rolled it over with the tip of her rifle. A hole the size of a pistol ball ran through its skull.
“I’ll scout,” Sicarius said.
“Akstyr?” Amaranthe called. “Basilard?”
A bird tweeted a querulous response. While Sicarius circumnavigated the area, Amaranthe checked the lorry. She passed two dead squirrels, a fire lizard, and a mangy opossum.
She lifted the tarp in the back of the vehicle. “The gear’s still here. Soggy but here.”
“The money?” Sicarius asked.
Amaranthe climbed into the cab and checked under the driver’s bench where she had secured the strongbox. It was gone. She winced.
“No.”
“Come.” Sicarius stood by a pine tree growing out over the shallows. He pointed downstream. “They went this way.”
More small animal corpses littered the trail.
“Any theory on the dead raccoons?” she asked.
Sicarius lifted a hand for silence. He tilted his head for a moment, then slipped into the undergrowth, barely rustling the ferns. Before Amaranthe could decide if she should follow, the foliage swallowed him from view.
“What’s that?” she muttered. “You want to explore on your own? Very well. I agree.” Amaranthe snorted. He might leave the scheming up to her, but she would be delusional if she thought herself the absolute boss over these men—especially him.
Not sure whether Sicarius had detected some enemy, she refrained from calling Akstyr and Basilard’s names as she continued forward. But a familiar voice soon reached her ears.
“…gotta be safe to get down by now,” Akstyr was saying. A moment passed, and he spoke again. “Dead? What dead? I don’t know that sign.”
Amaranthe stepped around a cluster of trees and the two men came into view. They perched in the crotch of an ancient aspen, rifles clutched in their hands. Their damp clothes hugged their bodies, and Akstyr’s hair appeared more bedraggled than usual. His foot pressed into Basilard’s chest while Basilard’s head lolled off to one side, neck crooked awkwardly. If they had spent the night in the uncomfortable spot, they had her sympathy. She had seen lovers less entwined.
“Good morning,” Amaranthe said.
Akstyr fell out of the tree.
“Sorry.” She jogged over to help him up. “I didn’t intend to startle you.”
The toe of her boot clunked against something hard. She brushed aside leaves and found the strongbox. They must have removed it from the lorry to guard it as they ran away from…what?
“Did you spend the night up there?” Amaranthe asked. “And, if so, why?”
Basilard climbed down.
Akstyr pointed at him. “Say nothing.”
Basilard swatted the finger away and signed to Amaranthe: Attacked. Flee here. Make defense.
“What attacked you?” Her gaze drifted to a dead squirrel in a puddle.
Basilard lifted his hands to sign again.
“Bears,” Akstyr blurted. “Big bears. And…grimbals!”
“I believe grimbals only live on the northern frontier,” Amaranthe said dryly.
Sighing, Basilard pointed at the squirrel. After storm, small creatures come. Rabid. Eyes shine. Bite and claw us.
Akstyr pushed back a baggy sleeve to display a long gash.
“A squirrel did that?” Amaranthe wrestled with her lips to keep them from smiling. No doubt it had been a crazy night for these two.
“A raccoon,” Akstyr growled. “A giant raccoon.”
Basilard winked and held his hands less than a foot apart to illustrate the not-so-giant size of the raccoon.
“It was bigger than that,” Akstyr said.
Basilard moved his hands closer.
“Oh, why don’t you eat the dung on every street in the slums?” Akstyr kicked a pine cone. “It was hectic and dangerous, all right?”
“I understand,” Amaranthe said. “Thank you for protecting the money. The, ah, giant raccoons didn’t try to take it, did they?”
“No.” Akstyr glowered suspiciously, probably thinking he was being mocked. “We just didn’t want to leave it.”
“Good thinking.” Amaranthe hoped the compliment would appease him. “Something suspicious is definitely going on out here.”
Sicarius glided out of the trees, carrying a pile of leaves. They glowed faintly.
“What’d you find?” Amaranthe asked.
A grassy, decaying odor tainted the air, and she crinkled her nose. Sicarius laid the leaves on the ground, revealing a regurgitated mess on top of them. A glowing regurgitated mess.
“Disgusting,” Akstyr said.
“Is that…?” Amaranthe pointed at the heap.
“Vomit,” Sicarius said.
“When I implied I’d like to see your foraging skills, this isn’t what I had in mind,” she said.
Akstyr snickered. “That’s why we don’t want him to have a turn making meals.”
Sicarius turned his cold stare on Akstyr.
“Sorry.” Akstyr skittered back several feet. “Just a joke. A bad joke.”
Basilard pointed at the radiant pile. Color eyes.
“Same hue as the eyes?” Amaranthe thought of the wolves. “You’re right. So maybe it’s something they’re eating that’s making the animals crazy. And, er, luminous.” She blinked. “Or something they’re drinking.”
Sicarius’s eyes locked onto hers. “Possibly.”
“I wish I had a c
opy of this morning’s paper,” she said, “so we could see if there’s any more news about people getting sick in the city.” In particular, she wondered if anyone’s eyes were glowing. Could that and the aggression be a symptom of continuing ingestion of the contaminated water supply? “Akstyr, would it be possible for a magic-user to poison a population’s drinking water?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground thoughtfully. “You could put something into water to poison it or a really smart practitioner could alter the basic structure of water at its tiniest level to be something just a little different that makes it poison to humans and animals. But to do it for the whole city, I don’t know. The quantity of water you’d have to alter would be huge, and it’s not like it’s just pouring out of some steady source, right? There’d be new snow melting into a river or lake or whatever, so you’d have to keep applying your power to keep the water flowing downriver poisoned. I can’t imagine the energy required.”
It always amazed her when Akstyr spoke more than a sentence. He could be halfway eloquent when discussing magic.
“So, if we’re dealing with a practitioner,” Amaranthe said, “it’s a very powerful one.”
“Very,” Akstyr said.
She looked at Sicarius. “Probably not the shaman you shot then.”
“He could not even stop a rifle ball to his chest,” Sicarius said.
“Yes. A true wimp.” She did not mention how he had captured her easily enough. “Basilard, can you tell us anything about your people’s abilities with the Science?”
Basilard’s eyebrows rose, and he touched his chest. My people?
“The woman who ran the gambling house and had that contraption in the basement was Mangdorian, and so was the shaman we just dealt with. He may have killed Lord Hagcrest.”
Basilard signed: My people not killers.
“I know,” Amaranthe said, “but sometimes things happen and people stray from their values.” That was vague, but she certainly was not going to tell him what sort of revenge had been motivating that shaman.
Basilard nodded, eyes downcast, and Amaranthe winced at her clumsy tongue. She had not meant to remind him of his bloody past.
“Suppose something crazy happened,” she said, “and a couple of your people chose to go against their religion and get revenge on…the empire. Is there anyone you’ve heard of who could do the sort of magic that might poison the water or kill people through devices embedded under the skin?”
Basilard hesitated, then shook his head.
Sicarius watched him, eyes hard. Amaranthe had a feeling he would interrogate Basilard without qualm at that moment. Now that Sicarius knew the Mangdorians had him targeted, he would want to find out everything he could.
Amaranthe gazed across the river in the direction of the canyon they had visited. Foliage and distance hid it from view. She wondered if she had let the storm drive her away too quickly. Perhaps she and Sicarius should have tried to capture and question one of the workers.
“Someone’s coming,” Sicarius said.
“They heard we have raccoon vomit for breakfast,” Akstyr muttered.
“Amaranthe?” Maldynado’s voice floated through the trees. “You around? I’ve got news.”
Relief washed over Amaranthe when he and Books ambled into view. They must not have found trouble at the Spearcrest estate after all. But maybe they had answers for her.
“What are you all doing back here in the trees?” Maldynado glanced downward. “And why are there dead squirrels everywhere?”
“Don’t tell him about our night,” Akstyr pleaded.
Yes, Maldynado would tease Akstyr for days over this.
“Just more quirky incidents with the wildlife,” Amaranthe said. “It’s not important now. What matters is—”
“That vomit is glowing.” Maldynado stared.
“Well, yes, but I’m more interested in what you two learned,” Amaranthe said.
Books eyed the vomit, but dismissed it with a shrug. He wore a relaxed smile that twitched into a grin now and then.
“Books?” she asked. “You have news?”
“The news is that old Booksie got his snake greased last night,” Maldynado said.
Books gaped at him. “That statement is crude, boorish, and…”
Maldynado’s eyebrows rose.
“…undeniably accurate,” Books finished, standing straighter.
“That’s the news you ran out here to tell us?” Amaranthe asked.
“News?” Maldynado said. “More like a once-in-a-decade miracle.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Books said.
“I’ll bet my finest sword that Raumesys was still on the throne.”
Amaranthe rubbed her face. Akstyr and Basilard covered smirks. Sicarius watched the forest, head cocked to listen, eyes always scanning. At least one member of her team preferred business to antics.
“Gentlemen,” Amaranthe said. “While I’m delighted to revel in your conquests with you, I’d like any information you might have found related to our mission.”
Books’s smile faded to an embarrassed foot shuffling.
“No information?” Amaranthe asked.
“Vonsha doesn’t know who bombed us,” he said, “but she claims the neighbor tried to buy her family’s land. She suspects him of colluding with the Kendorians, possibly to give them a foothold in our pass.”
“Kendorians?“ Amaranthe asked. “We haven’t seen a Kendorian since this started.”
“She was adamant the neighbor is up to something,” Books said.
“The neighbor is dead,” Amaranthe said.
“Oh,” Books said.
All the men’s eyes swiveled toward Sicarius.
“We didn’t do it.” Amaranthe relayed the previous day’s events. “Akstyr, do you know of any artifacts that could burrow beneath someone’s skin and kill when the wizard or whomever isn’t around?”
Akstyr shrugged. “If you’re good enough, you can Make just about anything. Sounds intricate though.”
“Could this be the work of the person also responsible for the big device in the gambling house vault?”
“I guess.”
Well, that was not particularly helpful.
“Any other information?” Amaranthe asked Books and Maldynado. She rushed to add, “Of the useful-to-our-goals kind?”
Maldynado snapped his fingers. “Forgot to tell you: we saw that female enforcer sergeant and the soldiers leaving the Spearcrests’ place.”
“Sergeant?” Amaranthe asked. “She’s a sergeant?”
Her first reaction was surprise, and then…bitterness. After all the years she had spent trying to get promoted to sergeant. All that hard work. As far as she knew there were no female enforcer sergeants. Until now, apparently.
“Yup, believe so,” Maldynado said. “And, er, she recognized us. Said she’d be back for us later.”
“Whatever they’re on assignment for must have priority over capturing outlaws,” Amaranthe said, “but we figured that. Where’d they go?”
“Back to the road heading up the mountain, not toward the other side of the pass.”
Amaranthe started pacing and thinking aloud. “There’s a lot of interest right now in the properties on either side of this river, but it doesn’t seem to be the source of the water to Stumps, so it’s probably not the problem. Somewhere up in these mountains, there’s a water supply that’s being tampered with, making animals crazy and effecting people all the way down in the city. What if the whole reason the water is being fiddled with is so people here, in this valley, can profit?”
“Profit from what?” Akstyr asked.
“If the city’s current water supply is suddenly unusable,” Amaranthe said, “then they’d have to look for another source. Quickly. Coincidentally, there’s a beautiful river here and a valley that could be turned into a lake if a dam was built. Of course, Sespian isn’t the kind of emperor who’d kick a couple of warrior caste famili
es off their land. He’d compensate them. Richly perhaps, at least in comparison to what these people are eking out on this unyielding land.”
“Building a new dam and altering the underground infrastructure that delivers city water would be a huge undertaking,” Books said.
“More efficient to kill the person fouling the water,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe tapped her chin. “Good point. Maybe that’s what the enforcers and soldiers are on their way to do.” More than ever, she wished she had told Sicarius to hop onto their lorry and follow them up the mountain.
“Although,” Books said, “if the water was somehow made permanently undrinkable, your limestone quarry might also provide a means for profits.”
“Raw materials for the dam?” Amaranthe guessed.
“The imperial mixture for underwater concrete used for such structures requires a great deal of limestone,” Books said.
“You can harden concrete underwater?” Akstyr asked.
“Yes, it’s quite fascinating,” Books said. “The original engineers who stumbled upon the formula were working near a volcano and found that a mixture of volcanic ash, sand, finely crushed rock…”
A minute or two into Books’s explanation, Maldynado slapped Akstyr on the back of the head.
“What was that for?” Akstyr blurted, interrupting Books.
“Asking a question that could result in a lecture.”
Books’s eyes narrowed.
“You realize what you’re saying,” Amaranthe said, hurrying to speak before an altercation got underway. “If both of these property owners stood to profit, one or both of them may be responsible for the whole scheme.”
Books pointed across the river. “Hagcrest is the one with the quarry.”
“But Hagcrest is dead.”
“He wasn’t when the plot was conceived,” Books said.
“He lived in a sparse, one-room cabin. He doesn’t seem like the type of man who would have been plotting for profits.” Amaranthe understood Books did not want his lady friend to have been one of the guilty parties, but the woman had been down in the real estate library, checking lot lines.